When Did It Happen?
by penofjade
Summary: What if we had been privy to Holmes's thoughts in that opening chapter to The Apprentice? This is my attempt to give an idea.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of Laurie R. King's or Doyle's characters, more's the pity...I'm sad now...

A.N. This short story is actually based off the opening part of the first chapter in Laurie R. King's _The Beekeeper's Apprentice_. This is what Holmes might have been thinking :D I know that I'm treading into sacred ground, but I think that I did fairly well with it! Let me know what you think! Now please enjoy:D

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When I first met Mary Russell, I was fifty-four years old and watching bees. There I was, sitting on one small spot of ground out of the entire Sussex Downs viewing with interest the creatures buzzing in the clover in front of me, when I realized that some person was advancing towards me. My revery broken, I sat and waited for who ever it was to either speak or stop, preferably neither. And, in a manner of speaking, my wish was granted. The person neither stopped nor spoke. However, he didn't veer away from me either. When it looked as though he didn't even realize I was there, and that in the course of the next minute or so he would step on me, I loudly cleared my throat.

The book, which I had noticed was by Virgil, went up in the air followed by a few non-descript curses and the person who was interrupting me in my retirement was clearly seen for the first time. I am loathe to say that, even then when I assumed that she was a he, I felt something in me crack open. I know how that must sound, and I attribute it to the fact that my heart, yes, my heart, saw through that outfit to the woman underneath, the woman I would, in six years time, marry. This person, who at that time meant nothing, would become one of the single most important factors in my entire life.

This young person did not seem to appreciate having his( yes, I know he is a she, but at that moment he was still a he) revery broken either, and there he stood glaring down at me through wire rim spectacles. He reached down and grabbed his book, still glaring at me as he wiped the dust off on his jacket. Then he opened his mouth and out came the voice that would become so dear to me. "What on earth are you doing? Lying in wait for someone?

At this, one of my eyebrows went up and I smiled in such a way as to show that this person meant absolutely nothing to me and that he had best just move on. "I should think that I can hardly be accused of 'lying' anywhere as I am seated on an uncluttered hillside, minding my own business. When, that is, I am not having to fend off those who would propose to crush me underfoot."

To me, that was the end of it. He, however, reared back as though I had struck him. He bit out, "You have not answered my question, sir."

I could tell he was furious, but I ignored it and merely turned a bored look upon him, wishing that he might just go away. "What am I doing here, do you mean?"

"Exactly," he bit back.

"I am watching bees," I said flatly, turning my back on him and my mind once more to the small, fuzzy creatures in front of me.

I did, however, notice that he didn't just walk off. He did move a few feet away and then, from the silence that followed, sat. After that, I truly did cease to think of him. My mind went back to deciding which group of bees that I had marked, red spots or blues, would be the better

replacement for those bees that I had lost in an early frost. I had just decided that the red spots probably belonged to one of the hives owned by a man named Warner when, from behind me, came the sounds of the young man standing up walking a few more paces off, to the point where I knew you could see down the slight hill we were on, and then walk back. I purposefully ignored him. He, however, did not let this deter him. I knew he would speak, but what he said amazed even me.

"I'd say the blue spots are a better bet, if you're trying for another hive. The ones you've only marked with red are probably from Mr. Warner's orchard. The blue spots are farther away, but they're almost sure to be wild ones." During his little speech I'd turned halfway around so that I could once again see him.

He looked up after he had gotten his Virgil out if his coat pocket. His mouth was open so I would assume that he was preparing to take his leave of me. His mouth shut however when he caught sight of my face.( Russell now tells me that I looked like a fish, truly openmouthed.) I slowly stood up as I continued to stare at this piece of humanity, this young person who had seemingly deduced what I was about. I had to make sure. "_What_ did you say?"

"I beg your pardon, are you hard of hearing?" he asked, raising his voice an octave and speaking slowly, as one would with either a young child or an elderly person. "I said," he

continued in that thoroughly annoying slow manner, "if you want a new hive you'll have to

follow the blue spots, because the reds are sure to be Tom Warner's."

"I am not hard of hearing, although I am short of credulity. How do you come to know of my interests?"

"I should have thought it obvious," was his impatient answer, causing me to wonder even more about his nondescript young man. "I see the paint on your pocket-handkerchief, and traces of it on your fingers where you wiped it away. The only reason to mark bees that I can think of is to allow one to follow them to their hive. You are either interested in gathering honey or in the bees themselves, and it is not the time of year to harvest honey. Three months ago we had an unusual cold spell that killed many hives. Therefore I assume that you are tracking these in order to replenish your own stock."

During this repetition, shock became quit prevalent. Here was this young person, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, giving me pause. I said the first thing that came to my mind that was actually comprised of words, "My God, it can think." I must admit that the words sounded mocking for a reason. I would rather have sounded mocking then awestruck, any day.

His chin came up, his blue eyes flashed, and he mocked me in return. "My God, it can recognize another human being when it's hit over the head with one. And to think that I was raised to believe that old people had decent manners."

Instead of counterattacking, which I could tell he expected, I merely smiled in a singularly condescending way and reached down to retrieve the rucksack at my feet. When lifted, it gave of the rattling of the paint bottles inside. I straightened, pushed my cap back on my head, and gazed at this young thing with a tired feeling in my very bones. He had so much life to live and so much potential as well. Perhaps I could mention to my brother, was my thought as I opened my mouth to say the two words that would change my life completely.

"Young man, I-," I got no further than that. The slim young man in front of me drew back, his eyes no longer just flashing, but blazing. I must say right now that I am very glad that my heart, in this the first real chance I had given it, did not steer me wrong. For as he drew back and looked at me in that manner, I couldn't help but tremble. And then when he pulled from his head his oversized cap and those two long, blond plaits of woman's hair tumbled down his back, I knew. This person, this young woman, would become, in all honesty, my life. Seeing the hair, my body didn't just tremble, my heart swelled, and I, Sherlock Holmes, the Great Detective, feel head over heels in love.


End file.
